Paper Thin
by it should rain
Summary: Their friendship is strong. They're inseparable. There's always something between them, marking the boundaries of friendship. As thin as rice paper, but it's there. Wilson always wondered what would happen if the paper was torn...
1. torn

**Title: Paper Thin**  
**Author:** Itshouldrain  
**Rating: all ages** so far  
**Pairing:** House/Wilson  
**Spoilers:** none as of yet  
**Summary: **_Their friendship is strong. They're inseparable. There's always something between them, marking the boundaries of friendship. As thin as rice paper, but it's there. Wilson always wondered what would happen if the paper was torn..._

**Paper Thin**

**1. Torn**

Even though the earth still smelt damp from rain, even though the even trickling of droplets still hung outside the window, even though the park was still muddy, it was sunny. In the distance, a rainbow lingered, as if the rain was reluctant to erase all evidence of its presence.

There was something to be said of the sense of rebirth after a good, violent storm.

Sun poured through the window, flooding the clustered room with light. There was a red mug on the floor, still bouncing a little from the impact, creamy coffee coloured liquid pooling around the mug. It seemed to be a fairly sturdy piece of ceramic-ware, and only a sizable chip at the rim marked its dance with the floorboards. Aside from this domestic anomaly, everything else in the room seemed to be in order. A little messy perhaps, with books, journals, TV guides carelessly draped over the furniture, on the floor, but there seemed to be a certain harmony to the arrangement, one that invoked no desire to disturb it.

Two people stood on opposite sides of the room, one near where the mug lay, next to the window, and the other at the door. In fact, his right hand was draped over the handle, facilitating a speedy escape if such a plan required action.

"Aren't you going to say something? Anything?"

The man near the door stammers, his tone tinted with frustration. But it was mostly nervous, and his fingers tapped the metallic handle gently in anticipation.

The other man continued to gaze at anything _other _than the shorter, younger man in front of him. Though, he leans a little more on his cane at the question, as if to sigh. His free hand twitches a little, still in shock, and he makes a point of staring down at the broken mug in front of him.

"I was going to drink that."

He informs the mug matter-of-factly.

The younger man resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but gave out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding. At least he hadn't been thrown out, or beaten up, yet. Instead, he glares at the scruffy man by the window, hand moving away from the handle, giving a slightly exasperated wave.

"You did say _anything _."

He added helpfully, blinking innocently.

"Huh."

Wilson shuffled his feet a little, his hand finding its way back to the handle.

House stood, doing an okay job of hiding his discomfort. The air was so condensed with awkwardness he was surprised there were no clouds forming.

"It's not everyday your best friend declares his love for you, so as you can imagine I'm a little surprised."

He drawled sarcastically. He could probably pass it off as some kind of platonic thing, and blame Wilson's outburst on his current vulnerable emotional state. But something in those brown eyes stopped him, and he cursed the oncologist inwardly, for breaking this…whatever it was between them.

Wilson contemplated this quietly for a few moments, finding his gaze drawn towards the floor. The back of his mind was mildly amused at how much he had managed to shock House, but mostly his mind considered the situation in front of him, and a very small part of him wanted to smack himself over the head for saying those three cursed words to his best friend. He didn't even have alcohol as a convenient scapegoat.

"So…"

He started, looking back up at House, only to be cut off by a sharp glare from the man.

"It's not going to work."

House stated flatly.

"Don't you think I know that House?"

Wilson almost yelled across the room, but instead it came out as a forced whisper, the delivery completed by frantic eyes.

The man in question raised his eyebrows at that.

"I just…thought you should…know."

He finished quietly, sounding slightly more pathetic than he had wanted, dropping his gaze again, and looked past his best friend, out towards the window. The rainbow had all but disappeared by this time, and the trickling decrescendo-ed into an occasional droplet falling from time to time. Wilson could not appreciate the sunny turn in weather for long, and returned an apprehensive gaze to his friend.

"Riiiiight. That's exactly why you told me."

House snorted, not bothering to cover up the disbelief in his voice.

"You wanted to get this off your chest. To have someone else handle the problem."

He accused suddenly, narrowing his eyes.

"What? I d-"

Whatever Wilson had to say was lost as the older man cut him off for the second time.

Wilson let out a long, slow breath, closing his eyes as he did so. When he opened them again, there was a newly found determination that had not been there before.

"Fine. I guess I'll just leave you to it then."

The door handle turned, and the oncologist, before leaving, shot one last pleading look at House, willing him to say something, i anything /i .

Two hands propped on the cane now, House simply smirked. Neither doing nor saying a thing. His eyes flashed betrayal, but it was gone before Wilson had enough time to process the expression.

The sound of a door slammed shut echoed angrily, filling the apartment with tension. Then there was one in the room.

**End part one.**

**AN – **I would call this a work in progress, so far the plan is for a 3-parter. And I've begun filling in parts 2 and 3. (Slowly, it's not going as smooth as this part did) However, I would really like input as to how you think how romance/sexual attraction would affect the House/Wilson friendship. (So far the plan is i not /i to have them end up as a couple, if only because I have no idea how to do that without making them too out-of-character, so really, any suggestion you have on this is great!)

**-omake- **(Because I had writer's block, and I like mocking my own writing...)  
_"It's not everyday your best friend declares his love for you, so as you can imagine I'm a little surprised."   
He drawled sarcastically._

"House what? I just told you I'm sleeping with Cuddy!"  
Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Not _everything_ is about you House."  
He murmured, moving to clean up the dropped mug.

"In your case it is."  
The taller man straightened his posture, as if he had something important to declare.

"See, you're sleeping with Cuddy because you're jealous that she pays too, too much attention to me, which, in turn, makes me notice you less, because let's face it, who can compete with Cuddy's funbags? So by sleeping with her, you're really just trying to get me to notice you more."  
House delivered with a perfectly neutral expression, scattered with some tints of 'realisation'.

"I'm on to you."  
He smirked at the stunned oncologist, who was now doing a rather commendable impression of a goldfish.

"However,"  
House moved closer to Wilson, placing a hand on his shoulder, making Wilson look up from where he was crouched, broken mug in hand.

"If you want me, all you had to do was say."  
His voice was soft, and, leaning in, the older man tilts his head a little, so their noses won't crash together.

"House…what are you-"  
Wilson protested weakly, but not making as much effort of it as he could.

"…"  
Just as House leaned impossibly close, and Wilson thought their lips might touch, the older man's free hand reached out to tap Wilson on the nose.

"Gotcha!"  
House stood back up, grinning.

**end omake  
**please dun hit me (even though I probably deserved it for that one XD)


	2. contemplation

Slumping a little, House let out a sigh. Frustrated, he brought down his cane hard on the broken mug, but it only tittered a few times before becoming still again, refusing to break.

"Wilson you idiot."  
He muttered softly, staring at the mug. Didn't he understand what this revelation meant? How was he suppose to mock Wilson and his horrendous ties now? Or snark at his supposed extra-marital affairs? Their friendship, was it worth so little to the oncologist that he would toss it away on the basis of three words?

Giving the mug one last glare, the man decides to ponder some more on the couch. Sitting down and propping his chin on the cane, House stared at the blank screen of the TV. Did this mean no more late night takeout and movies together? Is this _why _Wilson had decided to do this? He forced his mind to think about the puzzle that was Wilson's outburst; giving this new puzzle his full attention and brainpower. Just another anomaly, yes, those bugged him. That's why he's even thinking about this at all, to figure out why Wilson had just done that, it wasn't because …

House flipped on the TV, stopping that line of thought before it could get any further.Surfing through the channels gave nothing worthy of being watched save for an OC rerun. But as it were, even the Seth-Summer-Anna triangle could not entertain him, and did nothing to distract himself from his thoughts. Glowering at the TV screen childishly, House tossed his cane on the sofa. Why was Ryan sitting so close to Seth? Surely one needn't be that close when playing video games. His mind started wondering about their so-called 'friendship'. How exactly, his mind argued, does a boy from the wrong side of the tracks befriend an emo-nerd living in luxuries?

_Like how a cranky limping bastard stays friends with a nice, well-adjusted oncologist?_

All of a sudden, watching the OC rerun didn't seem like such a good idea.

In his office, Wilson stared at the files in front of him. It wasn't like he had a house to go back to. Julie was in 'their' house, and, it looked like House's apartment would be out of the question, at least until he got himself out of this mess.

They had always had _something_, his mind argued, that wasn't entirely friendship. While there was no burning sexual attraction between the two, Wilson always liked to think that he and House were not just best friends. That they understood each other so well, sometimes only needing to look at each other. And they were there for each other. Hell, Wilson _liked _being there for House. That House would allow him catch glimpses of a vulnerability he rarely let the rest of the world see. They spent an infinite amount of time together, and Wilson could not really remember an instance when he was truly sick of House's companionship, though the man got on his nerves, a lot.

Sighing, Wilson closed his file, tossing it back with the pile. It didn't seem he would get anything constructive done tonight.

House continued to glare at the screen. The OC rerun had been replaced by his favourite cartoon, the one about sponges in pants, living in giant pineapples. It was mindless, exactly the sort of entertainment he needed right now, one that did not raise questions about fucked-up friendships. He relaxed slightly, and settled in to watch the tiny yellow sponge on his latest adventure. And suddenly, the glare was back, why was TV betraying him so? Why were Sponge Bob and Patrick being so clingy? Surely they don't want to spend every waking moment together!

_Like you and Wilson?_

He told his mind to shut up. Perhaps a drink was in order.

An office whose air hung with stillness, a man lays sprawled on the sofa; eyes wide open, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. Occasionally a soft sigh escapes his lips, but he remains unmoving. His mind races through a thousand thoughts, stopping at none long enough to make sense of them.

An image flashes before him. _An older, scruffy looking man leaning against a counter, lips smirking, House. "So…have you told Julie?" "No…"A voice answered, hesitant. _Wilson identified the voice as his ow_n. House's smirk seemed to disappear_,_ and then_ the image disappeared. Leaving Wilson dissatisfied and confused.

He suddenly remembers talking to Cameron, before her "date" with House. He wonders why he's remembering this now.

His mind cruised through a myriad of images. Were their knees _really_ touching that day they watched the finals? Glances House gave him, the comfortable closeness, the laughter, genuine, that escaped House's lips, his own, slightly teasing, flirtatious smile. Wilson tried to separate the memories from his imagination, failing. Craving the lingering aftertaste of some images more so than he was comfortable with.

Finally, he closes his eyes, resigned to the floodgate that he had somehow unlocked, no sleep awaits him, and he is left there, on the sofa, alone with the thoughts he does not, would not understand.


End file.
